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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348632">taking my chances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon'>crookedspoon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Intoxication, M/M, POV Jason Todd, Pining, Pseudo-Incest, Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:29:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of shots too many and you're not making good calls anymore.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>175</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>taking my chances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/gifts">stevieraebarnes</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fills E. "Sharing a drink." from <a href="https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/157523264292/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-write">this tumblr list</a>.</p><p>For my best stevie, whom I was thinking of when I started this and whom I owe my life probably several times over because of how amazing she is.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jason slams the shot glass down onto a wet spot on the coffee table. TV colors flicker in the toppled glasses that spill what's left of their contents onto the floor. Sounds accompany the dancing images, but they're altogether too fractured to register.</p><p>His throat is raw, screaming, and a heat sits beneath his skin so sharp it's like an abrasion turned outside in, like the remnant of a good scratch with a spiky metal brush.</p><p>His fingers feel not quite like his own any longer, like they're too thick and sluggish, but he reaches for another shot anyway.</p><p>At least the burn of the vodka spreading through his chest distracts him from the other ache that's rooted there.</p><p>The ache that flares when Dick, a soft warm weight draped over the length of his arm, shifts against him. No matter how plastered he gets, the ache is always a part of him and always more pronounced in Dick's presence.</p><p>Dick has no idea. He does what he does and is none the wiser of the effect it has on Jason.</p><p>Why would he? All Jason's ever wanted was for Dick to acknowledge him as his brother. To accept him as family.</p><p>And now that he's got his wish, he's come to realize it's not what he wants at all.</p><p>Every time Dick calls him that – calls him brother, calls him family – the ache twists deeper with crooked claws because they're close now, so close, but it's not enough. Won't ever be enough.</p><p>Won't ever <em>be.</em></p><p>Yet he can't stay away. Can't stay away from the source of the deeper ache and the temptation to shoot down the rapport they built with each other.</p><p>As if he's waiting for moments like these, when they're intoxicated or in pain, skirting along the edge of consciousness, and anything can happen.</p><p>With fingers equally as clumsy as Jason's, Dick snatches the glass from Jason before he can bring it to his mouth. Liquid sloshes liquid over their hands in the process. Jason's skin is both hot and cold when Dick draws back from the accidental touch and knocks back the shot.</p><p>Jason watches the plunge of Dick's Adam's apple as he swallows – feels a sharp tug in his gut and somewhere lower as Dick's face contorts and his head quivers like a dog shaking water off its fur - suppresses the fluttering desire to lean in and suck the exposed skin of Dick's neck as he stretches toward the table.</p><p>The glass clunks onto it and Dick rolls back against the sofa, cleaning the vodka off his fingers with his mouth.</p><p>Laughter bubbles from him when he catches Jason staring.</p><p>"Sorry," he says and holds his knuckles out to Jason. "Did you want that?"</p><p>Jason's heart is knocking in his chest, but he manages to keep his gaze halfway between bored and disdainful – or so he hopes.</p><p>"You're drunk," he says.</p><p>"So are you."</p><p>Dick curls his fingers as though rolling a coin over the backs of them – as though in invitation, and Jason snaps. Literally. He snaps his teeth around the knuckles of Dick's middle finger.</p><p>Dick's laughter sticks inside his throat. His glazed eyes drift from Jason's mouth to his dark stare and back to his mouth. He licks his lips. Draws his arm back slowly. Not to dislodge his finger from between Jason's teeth, but almost as if to reel Jason in. To see if he would follow.</p><p>He does.</p><p>And maybe he shouldn't. Maybe he should just leave.</p><p>This night was supposed to be a casual bonding experience between two brothers, yet now they are sailing into deeper, more dangerous waters.</p><p>Dick curves down onto the sofa, pulling Jason along. Heat crashes through his body as he half falls and half climbs on top of Dick. He tells himself it's just the vertigo. He catches his weight with one hand on the arm of the sofa and a leg braced against the floor. His foot slips a little in the wet puddle beneath the coffee table, quivering with effort as Dick hooks his own leg over Jason's thigh to accommodate his frame.</p><p>Jason exhales a harsh breath.</p><p>And still Dick is tugging him closer. Jason could have let go at any time between the first nip and now. It's not exactly because he chose not to, but because it didn't even occur to him.</p><p>Being drunk is no excuse for dumb decisions, but it's certainly a catalyst.</p><p>Dick observes him with dark, glittering eyes and parted lips, as if he'd been about to say something but forgot midway through. Jason has no words either. Any sound from either of them might dispel the dreamlike state they're in and the plausible deniability it provides. The TV is just a backdrop, bathing Dick in flashes of differently colored light.</p><p>It's dangerous what they're doing. Jason's breath is coming in shallow bursts, his heart booming in thick pulses, and it's worse than being in the field. Jason can defuse bombs that would level entire city blocks without breaking a sweat, yet here his hands are trembling like some kind of palsy. A vague fear sits behind his lungs, squeezing the air right out of him: the fear of fucking up a good thing.</p><p>Dick looks up at him as though he doesn't feel it, too, bewilderment and curiosity warring on his features. As though he's not sure how they got to this point or whether he likes it or not.</p><p>There is a terrible, terrible hunger inside Jason that is gnawing a hole into his soul. It's been growing stronger with every peal of laughter, every roguish crinkle of Dick's eyes, every press of Dick's thighs against his own.</p><p>A small sound escapes Dick as Jason releases his knuckle from between his teeth. There are indents on it now, and a faint sheen of saliva that catches the TV light. </p><p>Dick eyes his hand, turns it over, and brings it back to his mouth. He sucks at the skin beneath his little finger and Jason...</p><p>Jason follows the only urge there is. He leans down.</p><p>Dick's eyes widen in surprise but then Jason no longer sees them. He dips his head toward the warmth of Dick's neck. Dick inhales sharply as Jason sets his teeth against it. Dumb decisions. Scrape and shudder.</p><p>Jason's world is spinning. He can feel Dick's fingers gripping his biceps, as if stopping him – or as if trying to hold on. They're not pushing him away. Not yet. That's what matters. So Jason goes on.</p><p>Jason bites.</p><p>Dick gasps and his knees clamp down around Jason, his arms whip around his shoulders, fingers twisted in his hair. There's no more hiding his intentions. He rocks against Dick.</p><p>His own breath is loud in his ears, but nothing could drown out the sound of Dick's shaky exhales, his shallow inhales. A pleasant shiver rains down Jason's back when Dick rakes his finger over his scalp and down his neck. His skin prickles where they touch.</p><p>From there, it's automatic, the negotiation of legs and lips and hands. They don't speak. It's the understanding that everything would break apart if they did. And neither of them seems to want that. They just want to breathe each other in, to taste skin, to erase the interstitial space between them. </p><p>Come morning, they'll realize the mistake they made. They'll pretend it never happened. Or they'll make excuses. <i>The alcohol, </i>they'll say. <i>It made us do stupid things.</i></p><p>Plausible deniability.</p><p>But that's for tomorrow.</p><p>For now, they allow themselves to forget they're supposed to be brothers, supposed to be anything, and with every moment that bleeds into the next, they become more lost in each other until all that's left is instinct.</p><p>Instinct, and desire.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title from "Surrender" by IAMX, which I actually wanted to use for wifey, but eh. You know me, I'm a beautiful mess. And in desperate need of pining and pseudo-incest. *chin hands*</p></blockquote></div></div>
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